


Smoke and Scrap Metal

by iwillsithereandtrytocontribute



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:47:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25384810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillsithereandtrytocontribute/pseuds/iwillsithereandtrytocontribute
Summary: Logan is an upper city scientist, taking a walk in the slums one day when he meets Remy Steele and his intricate metal arm. Logan can't stop thinking about that arm. Definitely just the arm, not the man attached to it.
Relationships: Logic | Logan Sanders/Sleep | Remy Sanders
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Smoke and Scrap Metal

**Author's Note:**

> If you're familiar with my other work, please heed the warnings. This is a bit heavier than my other writing and if I need to add more warnings please tell me. The prompt for this came from the incredible @pixelatedrose on both Tumblr and Ao3. Please go check him out!

Remy had never had an easy life. When he was born, he was weak and frail, barely surviving his own birth. His mother was not so lucky. As a result, she had never felt real to him. She was just a series of stories his Uncle Roman had told him ever since he was young. His father was much the same. He had died when Remy was three. An accident his uncle had said, Remy didn’t mourn. He was too young to understand. It was then he had gone to live with his uncle. 

He loved living with Uncle Roman, or RoRo as he had called him in his youth. The nickname stuck. Going to live with Roman was the best thing that had ever happened to Remy, but of course even that experience wasn’t marred by tragedy. When he was fourteen, his arm was crushed when a portion of his uncle’s shabby little apartment collapsed. Roman spent as much time as he could caring for Remy, they never had enough money, let alone enough for a doctor but he had to work all the time. Whenever he had the opportunity, Roman snuck home little bits of metal from the smithy where he worked. A piece of brass here. A sheet of steel there. Bit by bit, Roman built Remy a new arm. It was an intricate piece of work. The layering of the metals allowed his arm to look and move like a real arm, with the exception of being obviously made of metal. Roman had always had more talent with metalworking than his line of work had given him reason to use.

Remy wore it proudly. He cherished his arm more than any of his other possessions, as it was the only thing he had left of his uncle, the only family he had known beyond fuzzy memories of his father. Roman died when Remy was seventeen from some kind of lung disease brought on by working his life away at the forge. They didn’t have enough money for a doctor then either, not that it would have helped. Hardly anyone survives that kind of illness. Remy visited the spot where he was buried every year. It wasn’t marked, there was barely more than a mound where his coffin lay, but Remy knew exactly where it was. 

He was on his way there when he saw them. A woman in a dark alley fighting a dark clothed man. There was another man walking past the alley’s entrance. He glanced at the pair scuffling for a second before continuing on his way.  _ Fucker _ , Remy thought angrily. He raced past the indifferent man, a scientist by the look of his coat, pushing him out of his way.

“Hey!” Remy saw the scientist stop at the mouth of the alley out of the corner of his eye. Remy grabbed the man’s shoulder with his mechanical arm. It was beat up by this point, he’d been wearing it for twelve years after all, and his uncle had been dead for nine. Roman had inherited all the mechanical know-how in the family, Remy just used duck tape to fix his arm whenever he got in tough spots, like the one he was in now. Which happened a lot. 

“You want something kid?” The gruff, older man turned around. Remy realized a little late that the man was a lot bigger than him, but he stood his ground. 

He tsked. “Kid? Babe, I’m nearly 26. The question I think needs to be asked, is what are you doing?” Remy did his best to exude confidence. Confidence worked best with these kinds of scumbags and thanks to his arm, many people assumed he had been in the military, which always helped with first impressions even if it wasn’t true. 

“None of your business is it.” It wasn’t a question, although it was phrased like one. The man turned back to the woman who had been trying to slip away as they talked, wrenching his shoulder out of Remy’s literal iron grip. “My apologies deary. Where were we?” The woman silently urged Remy to do something, anything. Remy didn’t bother taking stock of his options. He reared back, and slugged the guy with all the force his metal arm could handle. 

Remy heard something snap. Likely some bone in the guy’s shoulder. He howled in pain as soon as Remy connected. He swung wildly, hitting Remy square in the face. Remy wiped his mouth with his good hand and saw blood come away. “Go!” Remy shouted at the woman as he punched the guy again. They kept trading blows, until the man stumbled away.

He set off down the alley, towards where Remy had come in. “Forget it!” he called over his shoulder, seemingly not realizing that the woman was long gone. “I can find easier- easier-” He was breathing too hard as he ran to finish his sentence. 

Remy groaned as he straightened and took stock of his injuries. He was going to have bruises galore, not to mention a potentially broken rib. That area felt particularly painful.  _ Sorry Uncle RoRo. Not today. _ He cursed. He had never missed a day at his uncle’s grave, but he wasn’t going to be able to make the trek to the churchyard and back to his tiny flat on the other side of the city. 

He was carefully making his way out of the alley when he realized that the scientist was still standing there, looking coolly down the street. Forgetting his injuries in wake of his sudden dash of anger, he strode up the man, determined to give him a piece of his mind. “What the fuck?” Remy shouted. The man looked startled, glancing around him before pointing to himself and mouthing “Me?” Remy sighed and crossed his arms. “Ye- No, the other fifty people behind you.” The scientist looked even more confused than he had been a second ago.  _ “YES YOU!” _

“How can I help you?” 

“Help me?” Remy pretended to think, not that he had the patience to do so for long. “Oh, maybe  _ help me out when I’m trying to protect someone? _ ” The scientist was clearly taken aback. 

“I- I’m sorry?”

Remy sighed. Anyone that oblivious wasn’t worth his time. “Whatever. Thanks for the help,” he shot back sarcastically. He started limping his way back home, leaving the other man to stare after him. 

It took a ridiculous amount of time for Remy to reach his dingy flat and collapse onto his cot, before painfully getting up to dress some of his more serious wounds. He wrapped some cloth around his injured ribs and cleaned the cuts on his face. He was too tired to eat, electing to walk back to his cot and fall asleep. It was easy, falling asleep. He’d been hurt so many times (Remy had always had a penchant for getting into fights) that it was easy to let sleep ease his pain. He sighed as he settled in, careful to elevate his back in case he really did have a broken rib. 

Logan hadn’t had a difficult childhood per se. The only difficult part about it was the expectation that came with the aptitude he’d shown for science (specifically engineering from an early age. His parents were rich nobles. Certainly not upper upper class, but comfortable and with decent connections that immediately improved when they announced his penchant for mechanics. He had spent his whole life developing his ideas into workable designs. 

He wouldn’t say he loved his life. He reported to his parents for everything and on some level he knew they used him and his skills to propel their social lives upwards. That’s not to say he didn’t love tinkering with anything from the largest engines to the smallest robots. Logan knew his inventions helped people. People he never interacted with. People his parents would never allow him to speak to for fear of endangering their rapid social climb.

_ You can’t be seen talking to  _ them! 

_ Do you have any idea how hard we’ve worked to get you here? _

_ We are a part of high society, you mustn't lower yourself by walking around the slums. _

Logan never argued with them as much as he wanted to. They were his parents after all, they loved him. They wanted what was best for him, even if he suspected that they sometimes forgot his name. 

Still. How could he truly understand what people needed if he was shut away from them his entire life? So he had disobeyed them, traveling to the outskirts of the city, looking for inspiration. He had found that they were right. The people there scrounged about for food, fighting over the tiniest morsel just so they could take something back to their families. At first Logan had felt superior, until he began to feel ashamed. Would he be any better, any more civilized if he had been born to a different family? What right did he have to walk among them and scoff at their tattered clothes and dirty faces? He could see people staring at him everywhere he went, eyeing his expensive clothes.

He had felt bad, accepted it, and returned, determined to use his talents to better those peoples lives and be done with the whole affair. At least he had thought so. Why then was he lying here, sometime past midnight (long after he usually fell asleep), thinking about that man he met in the slums? A man who had risked his life to save a woman he didn’t know, when everyone knew that no one in the lower class thought of anyone but themselves. Logan felt uneasy. Maybe it was the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about this stranger’s stormy grey eyes or his fiery anger when Logan didn’t help him. Maybe it was  _ because _ Logan had stood by, simply watching as if this was an interesting experiment. Only this wasn’t an experiment. This was real life and he had royally fucked up. He again resolved to do better. He had to. He couldn’t live with himself if he stood by and watched someone suffer in that way again. Content with his new philosophy, Logan readied himself for bed.

He was about to fall asleep when he sat straight up.  _ The arm. _ He could have sworn he saw drawings just like it some ten years ago. Sure it had been a while, but Logan had an impeccable memory. He saw them in a blacksmith’s shop… and they were owned by… Roman! Yes, a man named Roman… something. So much for his impeccable memory. Logan shook his head as though clearing away cobwebs. It didn’t matter what his last name was if he went to the forge again. He could ask about his son- no, the arm. The arm. He could ask about the arm. It really had looked to be a fine piece of craftsmanship despite its poor repair. Logan settled back down, yawning and rubbing his eyes. Aether, he was up late.

  
  


Logan waited a few days to return to the lower city. Just because his parents hadn’t lectured him yet didn’t mean they weren’t aware of his indiscretion. He woke up early a couple days after his excursion, wanting to escape the house before his parents woke up to catch him. Their rants would be nothing he hadn’t heard before, but it was something he didn’t want to deal with right now. He managed it, feeling terrible for having to sneak out of his own home. 

He followed a path he hadn’t traveled in years, to a forge he’d stumbled across one of the few times he’d defied his parents. It took him longer than he expected. He had to double back every time he realized he was going the wrong way, which was often. When he reached the shop he stopped, noting the decrepit appearance with a frown. This was nothing like how he remembered it. What had happened to the bustling forge with a decent amount of people clustered inside and out at all times? 

He walked through the old wooden door, wincing as the hinges screamed with the effort. There were two active fires going, with only three workers. One was barely old enough for such an apprenticeship. They must be short a few workers… and equipment, Logan noticed suddenly. There wasn’t much in the shop aside from the most essential tools and a few orders in various states of completion. Logan scanned the faces of the two men for Roman and his telltale smile. Unless he suddenly looked twenty years older than his age, he wasn’t here.

“What can I do you for?” one of the men asked.

“I’m Logan Sanders.” Logan held out his hand for the usual handshake and was startled when the man gripped his whole arm and gave it a firm shake. 

“Percy. And I’ve heard of you. Made those nifty ellvaders I heard.”

“Elevators, yes,” Logan corrected with a pained expression. “I’m looking for a worker of yours. I had thought he might be here.” Logan glanced at their faces again just to make sure. Unsurprisingly, nothing had. 

Percy gestured to the other two. “Just got Andy and little Nate with me. They’re all that’s left now other than Linda, and she don’t work most days. The past couple years haven’t been great for business. All the rich folk stay on their level and we stay on ours.” He shrugged. “Fine for them, not for us.” Logan nodded uncomfortably, very aware that he was considered “rich folk.” “Got a name? Some just retired. Not all of them- well you know.” Logan was pretty sure Percy was trying to tell him something if only by how much he was moving his eyebrows, but he wasn’t sure what. He just nodded again.

“I’m looking for Roman. I don’t remember his last name but-” Logan trailed off when Percy began to shake his head. 

“Sorry, but he died years ago,” Percy told him mournfully. Logan would swear he felt his heart drop if such a thing were possible. “Some kind of lung thing. Lots of blacksmiths have trouble with their lungs.” The other man, Andy, coughed hoarsely as if to prove his point. “It’s all the coal dust you see. Not as bad as the mines, but…” Percy trailed off with a shrug. 

“Did- did he have a son?”

Percy shook his head. “No kids. He took care of that one kid though, his nephew I think. He kept stealing metal from the shop.” Logan’s eyes widened. Percy noticed and waved him off. “I let him have them. Shop was in it’s good days then. Besides, I knew the kid had just lost an arm, and who better to make it than Roman? That guy always had more talent than he could use down here.”

Logan nodded again. “Do you know where I could find his nephew?”

“No, clue.” 

Logan’s shoulders fell. 

“I’ll tell you his name though.” 

Logan perked up again.  _ Finally a concrete lead. _

“Remy Steele.”

Logan blew out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding angrily. “Do you realize how common the name Steele is?” he asked. “How am I supposed to find him with just that?”

“Remy’s pretty uncommon,” Nate piped up. He had obviously been following their conversation intently. 

Logan sighed. “Thank you for your help,” he said through gritted teeth. He dug into the satchel he carried at his waist and pulled a couple gold pieces out of it. The old man stared at it like it was, well, gold. 

Percy bowed slightly as he accepted the money. “Much obliged.”

“It’s nothing,” Logan said dismissively as he swept out of the shop, ignoring the glance Percy and Andy shared as he left. The name was ringing around in his head.  _ Remy Steele. Remy Steele. Where are you? _ He wandered the streets, asking anyone who bothered to slow down enough to talk to him. Most people glanced up at him and rushed past with their heads down. The few people he did manage to ask shook their heads or muttered something about not knowing everyone in the lower city.

He spent a few silver on a halfway decent sandwich, not realizing that it was far too much to pay for lunch, especially down here. He didn’t think much of the two men whispering amongst themselves, and he didn’t notice those same men following him from a distance. 

Logan paused to talk to a woman airing out the laundry. “Excuse me?” The woman grunted in response, all but ignoring him as she went on with her task. “Do you know Remy Steele or at least where I could find him?” She shook her head. Logan nodded and sighed as he walked away. 

A man leaning on the archway of one of the walkways over the street caught Logan’s attention. “Heard you was looking for Remy Steele.”

“Yes, do you know him?” Logan asked hopefully.

“I can take you to him.” The man grimaced in what looked like an attempt to smile. 

“Thank you very much,” Logan replied evenly, with a smile of his own. “You have no idea how long I have-”

“Follow me,” the man said abruptly. Logan allowed himself a moment to be suitably disgruntled at having been cut off in such a rude manner before following. They wove a complicated path between ramshackle buildings and through narrow alleyways. Logan fought hard to keep a blank face as he walked through filthy streets. He blanched when they neared the meat district. Thankfully they turned away before actually reaching the carcass-caked streets. The man pointed silently down an alley. 

“He’s down there?” Logan asked, fighting the urge to gulp like some character in those novels he had read as a child. The man nodded. Logan carefully took a step forward, then, gaining confidence he walked a little faster. He stopped when he saw someone sitting on what looked to be a doorstep from what he could make out in the late afternoon gloom. “Is Remy Steele here?” Logan asked.

The man looked up with a grin, eyes flashing with recognition. He stood up, only slightly shorter than the lanky Logan. Even then, he stood much broader in shoulder than Logan could ever be. “I heard you were flashing some cash today. You and your fancy clothes could stand to pay my men and I a pretty penny to get out of this alley alive.”

Logan’s gaze whipped back and forth between the mouth of the alley, where two people were now standing, and the man in front of him. “You don’t- you don’t want me,” Logan stammered, hands unconsciously gripping his satchel. 

“Please,” the man scoffed. “Everything about you screams upper city. Your clothes, your way of speaking, those silvers you used for a sandwich.” He eyed Logan’s satchel. “Speaking of…” He snatched Logan’s satchel. Logan pulled it away, stumbling backwards until he hit the wall of the building behind him. 

“Please don’t-” The man came up to Logan, grabbing the satchel. They dissolved into a tug of war, but Logan had no chance against the street-toughened man. “Help! Help!” Logan yelled at the top of his lungs. The man finally got the satchel away from him and punched Logan in the face.

“That’s what you get for refusing to go quietly.” He punched Logan again in the stomach. Logan doubled over. With each strike, he curled in on himself more. As he fell to the ground, it occurred to him that he could try to fight back, but every time he tried to even sit up it began again. His whole body shuddered with every kick or punch. He tasted his blood in his mouth; he could practically feel bruises forming along his arms and torso. 

There was a series of loud bangs and incoherent yells before an uneasy silence swept over the alley. Logan heard footsteps and tensed, awaiting another kick. He heard someone curse, and nearly opened his mouth to admonish them before realizing that probably wasn’t the best idea. 

“Fancy meeting you here?” came the suave voice that had replayed itself in Logan’s mind since he heard it three days ago. Logan looked up at the sound, squinting through the shattered remains of his glasses and his rapidly swelling cheek. He was feeling the worst he ever had in his life, but it all seemed to go away the second he locked eyes with Remy Steele. Remy held out his hand. Logan took it, gingerly pulling himself up with Remy’s help. Logan tried to take a step and hissed in pain as he stumbled forward. “Woah!” Remy said, grabbing Logan’s shoulder. “Hold on there. You got beat up worse than me.”

Logan looked at Remy and realized he was sporting a matching bruised cheek and numerous bruises and scratches. He swallowed some of the bile that had risen from his throat and tried to draw himself to his full height. Tried being the operative word. “Thank you for your assistance.” Logan bent down to collect his satchel from the man who’d tried to rob him, biting his lip to keep from gasping at the effort. 

“Why are you down here?” Remy asked as he helped Logan limp towards the street. “I knew upper city folk were stupid, I just didn’t know they were this stupid.”

“Excuse me?” Logan asked indignantly. 

“Let me guess,” Remy said, ignoring him, “you paid too much for something and got Clint’s boys on your tail.”

Logan’s cheeks burned, more with embarrassment than pain at this point, as he stared at resolutely at the road. “How’d you know?” he mumbled. Remy laughed. 

“That’s always how they get their big marks. Upper city people don’t know how to handle themselves down here.” They walked in silence for a while before Remy brought up the topic that had been hanging between them just waiting to be addressed. “I didn’t think I’d see you again, after-” he trailed off. 

“I came to find you,” Logan blurted out. “To find your arm I mean.” Logan cursed himself inwardly.  _ Smooth, Logan. Really smooth. _

Remy raised an eyebrow. “My arm.”

“Yes of course. I recognized the style. Your uncle Roman made it correct?”

“Yes. You knew him?” 

Logan tried to read Remy’s face for all of a few seconds, before deciding the task was futile. “Barely.” Was he imagining it, or did Remy’s face fall imperceptibly? “I found the shop where he works-” Logan saw Remy’s face, definitely a reaction. “Worked,” Logan corrected. “He had the hands of an angel,” Logan said softly after a moment. “I remembered his plans to build his nephew an arm when I saw yours. It’s a bit beat up.” Remy grabbed his mechanical arm reflexively. “But I think I can fix it,” Logan said quickly.

“We’ve got to fix you up first,” Remy replied with a pointed glance. Logan looked down at himself and was hit with another wave of pain. 

“Good plan.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be a oneshot, but I really can't help myself.


End file.
